The Aftermath
by Yesm777
Summary: Tag to "A Feast of Friends" (01x04). Even though Gaz is gone, John still sits alone in the empty room. The room he died in. As Zed looks on, she can't keep the guilt from pooling in her gut. Lots of angst. One-shot.


_Author's Note: This is just a little one-shot I wrote in my spare time. Lots of Constantine angst and a little built of guilty Zed. Episode tag for "A Feast of Friends" (01x04). I hope you enjoy it!_

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**The Aftermath**

Zed was careful not to be noticed.

The past few days had been some of the worst in her life, which said something considering her unusual childhood. While she didn't know Gaz very well, she could tell he was a decent fellow with a bout of bad luck. Although, bad luck did little to describe the hell he'd stumbled on.

Of course, his screams of pain were testament to that.

However, while sleep was nigh impossible for her, it was unthinkable for John. For days, he sat beside his old friend, Gaz's hand gripped tightly in his. Zed could tell John was doing everything he could to suppress his emotions, his expression dark and tight.

Every day, she'd look into the dreaded room, her heart wrenching as Gaz was consumed by the hunger demon. John looked paler with every passing minute, a gaunt hollowness taking hold in his face and figure as the days went by.

She wished she could take back what she said.

When she saw John supporting Gary, clearly having forced the demon into his addict of a friend, she'd been furious. How could he have done that? How could he be so heartless? Perhaps his desperate, shouted words had put her in a more helpful state of mind, but it was the current expression on his face that made her truly regret her accusations.

Gaz was gone now, body and demon consumed by supernatural hunger. Still, John sat in the blocky, wooden chair, staring at the ground. His jaw was tight, a haunted look in his eyes. Zed was certain he would never move again.

It was excruciating to watch.

Zed began silently pleading that he would mourn properly. No human being could bottle such feelings and continue to function. It wasn't right.

She heard a soft shuffling beside her, knowing full well who'd joined her.

"Not the first time," Chas muttered quietly, standing beside Zed as he watched John. She looked at him, something akin to faint horror on her face. Chas met her gaze, sad and defeated. "Newcastle was worse."

Her mouth opened as if to say something, but quickly shut it when she realized she didn't know what to say. The two of them stood together in complete quiet, the air heavy with unseen sorrow.

"He's had to make hard decisions when no one else would," Chas murmured, sniffing quietly. "Still suffers the kickback."

Zed swallowed thickly as she thought back to her encounter with John by the truck. Her words had been harsh, making a hard situation for John harder.

"I said some things," she mumbled, looking back to John, "some things I shouldn't have."

Chas said nothing, the look on his face neutral as he comprehended her meaning. Zed glanced at the floor guiltily.

"I should apologize," she nearly whispered, thinking out loud. After a moment of silence, Chas settled a gentle hand on her shoulder, causing her to look up at him.

"I would do it sooner rather than later," he suggested softly. "Hell knows he needs it."

Zed nodded to herself, listening as Chas walked away. She watched John for awhile, unsurprised to see that he hadn't moved.

With a sigh, she shuffled off to make a couple cups of tea, her mind heavy in the suffocating silence of the millhouse. As she picked up the two mugs, she realized her hands were shaking a little, an odd fear niggling in her chest as she prepared herself to face John. She wasn't sure what she'd find when approaching the exorcist. Part of her was afraid he'd lash out. Another part was more fearful of him falling into sobs, as unlikely as it seemed.

She slowed as she approached the room Gaz had died in. Maybe this was a terrible idea. Maybe this would just make things worse.

Shaking away her thoughts, she pushed herself over the threshold.

Zed bit her lip as she stood in front of the still demonologist. "I made you some tea," she announced timidly. He didn't move, his eyes glued to the floorboards. Zed chewed on her cheek as she carefully sat on the floor beside him. "I made it just the way you like it."

She couldn't be sure if she was startled or relieved when he flicked his gaze over to her. The expression on his face looked almost as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"Here," she encouraged, holding up the mug. Slowly, he took it from her, his motions sluggish and distracted.

For a long time, neither one of them said anything. Even as Zed sipped at her own cup, John just stared at his own. At this rate, he was going to kill himself through dehydration and malnutrition.

"You should try and drink a little," she prodded. "You haven't drank or eaten anything for days."

After thoughtfully mulling it over, John finally moved to take a sip. It was small, but at least it was progress.

A pregnant silence sat between them, weighing heavily on Zed's mind. Her cup was suddenly forgotten, instead replaced by a panicky realization that John might be broken beyond repair.

"Are you okay?" she asked quietly, almost frantic as she supposed the worst.

John swallowed heavily, his eyes sliding slowly to meet hers. The darkness in his dull orbs sent a chill up Zed's spine, settling painfully in her mind. He offered her a hollow, lopsided smile before looking back down at his cup.

"It's not really me you should be asking," he muttered. His voice was hoarse with misuse, the sound of it breaking Zed's heart.

"It's not your fault, John," she whispered. His eyes narrowed, glaring the mug down with a self-loathing Zed had never seen before.

"But it is though, isn't it?" he growled. Zed shook her head, reaching out to touch him on the arm.

"You said yourself that you gave him a choice. He chose to do this," she pressed, suddenly worried by the shadow in his face.

"Not much of a bloody choice, was it?" he hissed, clenching his jaw.

Zed swallowed a sigh, looking down at her tea. "And how much of a choice did you have?" Her gaze met his, absorbing the puzzlement swirling in his eyes. "I may not know you that well, John, but I get the feeling if there was any other way, you would've done anything to spare Gary. I think…if you could have traded places with Gaz, you would have."

John looked away from her, eyes again glued to his cup. For a moment, he just stared at the damned thing, expression hard. Zed thought he would stay that way forever.

"You didn't have much of a choice either, John. I think Gary knew that," she offered, her tone hushed and gentle. "He didn't blame you. Chas doesn't blame you." She paused for a moment, her eyes trailing along the lip of her mug. "I don't blame you."

Looking up, she fought hard against the burn of emotion in her chest. John gripped his cup with white knuckles, his body even more tense than before. The two of them sat still in the silence, letting the minutes tick by.

Abruptly, John stood from his seat, almost swaying in place. "I need a ciggy," he muttered, walking quickly from the room.

With a sigh, Zed slouched on the floor. For a moment, she'd thought that she'd get through to John. Perhaps that's why it was harder to swallow the failure.

Her eyes wandered from her tea to the abandoned chair. John had sat there for days, hardly ever leaving Gaz's side as the man writhed and thrashed in pain. There weren't many that could stand that kind of emotional torture.

She reached her hand out to the worn wood, stopping as her hand hovered over the side of one of the legs. With a deep breath, she snapped her hand to the wood, gasping as her body pulsed with heavy, dark emotions.

Guilt, pain, sorrow, shame, regret.

It pushed her lower than she'd ever felt before, almost drowning her in the blackest hue of human emotion. Her chest felt like it had been dunked in ice water, her limbs buzzing with a near paralyzing disgrace.

Zed pulled her hand off the chair, clasping it protectively to her body. She sat frozen for a moment, stunned by the severity of John's personal feelings. It was worse than the first time she'd touched him, trying to prove her gift to him.

She rubbed wearily at her eyes, trying to wipe away the tears unexpectedly springing there. Her mind settled on the very idea that she feared most.

John Constantine would never heal.

_**FIN.**_


End file.
